Ante Bellum
by tami3
Summary: Glenn thinks about his brother and death at the same time. Although it says angst, it's not exactly like angst... R&R please.


Ante Bellum  
  
And I sit here, with my arms crossed and a bit of a softened scowl on my face. I turn my head upward and a glare that can compare to the sun's blinds me to everything, except for the darker, unglossed inscription on the trophy, marking the victor of the occasion. It was a local competition for children whose validity as a meritorious contest has always been questioned by my mind, which remembers battle in a way in which the object of the one-on-one game is to leave as many fatal wounds on your opponent's body as possible, then crush the skull with your boot before they can get back up. Not like the light-hearted junior tournament at all, when the champion is hailed by those who threw themselves against him with a weapon in hand before, taking measured swings at limbs rather than the head or the chest cavity.  
  
Brother, you may just be a symbol for those seemingly fragile days left replaying themselves in my mind, when Riddel was a purer version of the ingénue she is now, smiling contemplatively as she waves her staff to pass through an offending monster's ribs. And Karsh, whose practical ponytail let him spar with us with us a bit more safely and led those who glimpsed him at afar to think he was a tall girl. Even me, the constantly hungry little boy who never laid a vicious blow on anything other than the wooden doll propped up on his post, driven into our lawn by your own hands, thought little of death.  
  
But we all had our initiation ceremonies and become avid regulars in the ranks of killers, and none of us cried when we first felt the wetness of blood and sweat rolling down our hands as we tore through another human being, the handle of what we arm ourselves with slipping out of our grasp. Riddel-yes, your sweet Riddel- still is as darling as she ever was, a healer that soothes our agony rather than causes any of it, but she too, has been forced to blemish her innocence. When Porre invaded, she did her best to go around the members of the armies that had paired up in the street, and Karsh and I to stay by her side to cut down anyone who recognized her and moved in for a hostage, but we were stalled and she had nothing to do against the burly commander that approached her but to bring the rod down hard on his neck, and throw his spine out of alignment.  
  
Karsh's first confirmed kill was a thief, I think. One of the acclaimed Radical Dreamers. He was on a mission to root them out. When a blurry form shot in front of him, flashing knife raised high, what choice did he have but to cleave the would-be murderer in two? It turned out be a girl, a skinny, underfed teenager with tangled violet hair, probably not yet even 14. They didn't have enough time to bury her, so they covered her face with a cloth and moved on.  
  
And then, there's me. I don't even remember it. They say that the first man you kill is as unforgettable as the first woman you loved, but how can that be? The battlegrounds are chaotic, and the interval between each clash is nearly nonexistent. How can you distinguish a face from the entire crowd you slaughtered, when they all blur behind the curtain of a crimson spray, which makes them all look alike? And they all wear uniforms, so it's not hard to loose that recognition of each person as an individual and not a mass of singular-colored enmities to be wiped out. Even is it's your first time you don't stand around and lament over your sins if there's a war to be fought.  
  
I never did ask you if you ever killed someone. I know that it's inevitable, when you have a military career, but it's a lot easier to delay than one may think. You lived in a time of relative peace, so what exactly did you do that made you look so gloomy at times? I may have been more enlightened on the guilt that soldiers must endure than most people, but you were my older brother, the nurturing and kind parental figure that never laid a hand on me, no matter how badly we fought. I never associated you with. young men and women like you and Riddel meeting their demise at your hands. I thought about asking you, sometimes, but then, I wondered if I really needed to know.  
  
And now, I guess I do. These scars decorating my face are mementos of the times I was forced to forget humanity along with thousands of others and littered the ground with corpses. I doubt you ever tread on carcasses as I did, but did you ever feel the violent jerk of a body as you impaled him? I'm not sure I ever saw a mar anywhere on you from your victim's struggle, like the ones Karsh has on his arms and chest, and even Riddel, a small one on her shoulder when that Porre officer fired a single off-aim shot at her. Before the next war, brother, I want to know. how did you manage to remain human?. How can I?.  
****  
Eh heh heh heh.. Yeah, I know. another weird one. Ante Bellum means before the war in Latin I think, and I wrote this when I was feeling inspired, but didn't know what to write. it was just an idea that popped into my head, one that didn't make any sense at. Glenn's the only one with scars, right? Dario doesn't have any, and he's older than Glenn by a long shot. Plus, he's been out on serious missions. So. does that mean Dario didn't have to face off with someone? Er, yeah, I know, stupid.but. whatever. Review.. 


End file.
